


Do Not Disturb

by Kindness



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-30
Updated: 2011-01-30
Packaged: 2019-07-08 09:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15927500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kindness/pseuds/Kindness
Summary: Small, intimate wedding;enormousreception. It was a compromise – Jess and Rory, Luke, Richard, April, and Sasha vs. Lorelai, Emily, Liz, Lane, TJ, Doula, Gigi, Lily, and basically the whole town of Stars Hollow. (Christopher, Zach, and Jimmy were ambivalent. Paris was out of town.)





	Do Not Disturb

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](https://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/35812.html?thread=5515748#cmt5515748). Finally getting around to transferring my handful of LJ-only fics to AO3, in the Year of Our Lord 2018.
> 
> Prompt: _wedding night_

Small, intimate wedding; _enormous_ reception. It was a compromise – Jess and Rory, Luke, Richard, April, and Sasha vs. Lorelai, Emily, Liz, Lane, TJ, Doula, Gigi, Lily, and basically the whole town of Stars Hollow. (Christopher, Zach, and Jimmy were ambivalent. Paris was out of town.)

Halfway through the receiving line, Jess is ready to bail. By the time the epic assortment of toasts is done, and hours of dinner/dancing/traditions still loom, so is Rory. They grin at each other across Mrs. Kim berating Rune and Kirk sharing his latest business venture with a politely horrified friend of Emily's, and Jess mimes doing a shot, so quick that for a minute Rory thinks she imagined it, and he was fixing his bowtie the whole time. Then he winks.

It's funny how, at an event that's all about Rory and Jess, they barely get to see each other the whole night. It's a stream of strangers – has the DAR doubled in size since Rory was there?! – chatting with them, giving congratulations (to the groom) and best wishes (to the bride), complimenting them on their entrée selection (those particular comments, they point towards Emily and Sookie). On those rare occasions when their orbits overlap, they don't get to do much more than exchange a look. Several times, Rory finds herself amazed at who Jess is charming – or who he can make conversation with – or who, apparently, he recognizes. It still surprises her sometimes, how much "worthless" information he can retain when he puts his mind to it; how well he passes when he wants to.

How ridiculously good he looks in a tux.

She tells him that last one, when they're finally back in their room – is it still the same year?! – and she's collapsed on the bed in her dress and heels and he's making a big show of finding the Do Not Disturb sign.

The door locks three times; he shuts the drapes securely even though they're on the 16th floor. Rory unplugs the hotel phone and tries to remember where she last saw her cell.

"What were you saying?" he asks as he drops down beside her and starts loosening his cuffs.

"Just how good you look like this." She tilts her head to the left a little, then to the right, then to the left again. "I can't – "

"Believe it? Yeah, thanks."

"No! It's just – I guess it's not genetic."

He pulls the bow of his tie undone with one hand, extracts it from his collar. "What on _earth_ are you talking about?"

"Looking good in a suit! Luke looks awful in a suit."

"I'm going to tell him you said that." She opens her mouth to protest; he holds up a finger in warning. "Wait, Rory – think hard about what you're going to say before you say it. Should you be thinking about Luke at a time like this? I'm all for threesomes, but this one might be a liiittle incestuous even for..."

He trails off, laughing, because she leans in to kiss him at the same time she's pulling out bobby pins, and her previously carefully-styled curls go everywhere. "Smooth," he manages to tease, in the space of a breath between kisses, and his jacket is off by the next. His hands find her waist, slide up, fiddle with her zipper and the clasp above it. She starts unbuttoning his shirt. "You know," he says, close to her ear as the back of her dress comes open, "if you were really a genius, you'd be doing that with your teeth."

She stops. And swats him. And shoves him away, so he can receive at arm's length the most withering stare she can muster.

It's not very withering. At least, it never seems to wither Jess. Tonight, for example, he just grins, and picks up where she left off without taking his eyes off her.

"You're awfully cocky for a guy whose father-in-law had to do his tie this morning." She flips her hair, left to right, and shifts position to unbuckle her heels. He, in turn, interrupts her when she's one shoe on and one shoe off, and the last button on his half-tucked shirt is abandoned. He pushes her down into the hotel's heaps of pillows; she hugs him flush against her as he kisses just below her jaw.

"Am I crushing you?" he says into her collarbone, never a question anymore, just a habit, maybe a way to guarantee the sound of her voice.

Rory squeezes her arms tighter around him, and he feels her laugh all through his body. "Yes. Don't stop."

When he does try to extricate himself, she makes a sound like a complaint and grabs at his shirt. He goes to give her a _Rory,_ kind of look but then can't not laugh at the way she's grinning. "You have alien eyes," he tells her testily to compensate, the best he can do on short notice, and is rewarded with a tiny double-take and then a fit of giggles.

"You are the biggest jerk on the planet."

"What?!" He starts pushing her dress up; the sleek fabric bunches unhappily under his hands. "I thought I was reformed."

"I – _Jess_ – this dress is dry-clean only!"

His fingers skate across her; before she quite knows it she's lifting her hips so the poor dress can be hiked up even further and what's under it pulled down to her knees. "Dry-clean only?" he echoes, incredulous and reproachful. "I don't know what you were thinking."

It's a good thing she doesn't get paid for on-the-spot repartee. His hands spread her thighs with the well-earned ease of practice, and she's only got about half the words formed before his mouth is between her legs and all of them dissolve in a gasp.

Does this ever get old? She supposes she has the rest of her life to find out.


End file.
